“Almost done,” Parker says, wiping her face with her forearm and grinning over at me. “Are you sure you want to eat something I cooked?” “I trust you, Pete.” Her grin turns mischievous. “You trust me not to burn it or not to poison it?” “I didn’t think about poisoning. Is that a thing I should be worried about?” “We’ll see,” she says, dropping something in a pot on the stove. Hopefully, not hemlock or arsenic. I'm trying to relax, still telling myself that this is okay. Parker invited me in. This is fine. But it’s the first time I remember being in someone’s personal space in longer than I
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